"Now you may or may not know this, but this campground back in the 1920s had a hotel. It was kind of a small hotel, with about 8 guest rooms, and it was very popular with tourists. At least at first it was. The tourists would drive in from Salem and Albany to soak in the hot springs and cool off in the river. Business was booming for the hotel and many guests were turned away. However, after WWII, the hotel's appeal wore off. Valley residents were more apt to go to the beach or to some of the newer, bigger and fancier resorts that sprang up around Portland."
"Hey Dad..." says my son Isaac, "this story's not scary at all!"
"Yeah...what is it more like a history lesson?" wisecracks Isaac's friend Michael.
"Shut up you guys, let him tell the story!" my daughter Alanna yells.
"Yeah you babies, you were so worried it was going to be too scary, I think you'd be happy it's a history lesson" says Cassie, who is Alanna's friend (and Michael's older sister).
"Well just hang on, give me a chance...I'm going to get to the scary part."
"Not too scary Dad, okay?" Isaac nervously asks.
"You babies, shut up!" Alanna hollers.
"Okay you guys, let me get back to my story! Alright, let's see where was I? Oh yeah, the hotel on the campground...well like I said there used to be a hotel here that was popular, but after world war II and after Hitler and his Axis allies were defeated by the Allies and the A-bomb was dropped on Hiroshima..." the boys eyes swing over to me, rapt their attention grows at any mention of war..."the innkeeper and his two daughters, who were both orphans from the big city..." Alanna looks my way...."and there was also a handsome boy who worked in the field..."and here comes Cassie's attention..."all of them were living here at the time, and with the hotel not getting a lot of business, they were afraid that they would run out of money....and they had to sell the hotel. The buyer was the State of Oregon Parks Department, and the plan was to turn this area into a State Park and the hotel would be sort of a museum. But shortly after the hotel was purchased, the local citizens demanded that the State tear the hotel down, rather than turn it into a museum. You see, part of the reason the hotel did not attract a lot of business, was because many patrons complained of disturbing dreams at night, and strange sounds in the hallway, and flickering firelight when all the candles were put out. Some even whispered that the hotel was haunted."
Now both girls are sitting bolt upright in their camp chairs, staring into the fire. Both of the boys are slumped over in their chairs, fingertips pressed into their ears, staring into their laps.
"Well this would not do. Oregon Parks was a rational, modern govermental department and they didn't believe in nonsense like ghosts, and sure wouldn't let some local yahoos tell them what to do with their building. But it was a delicate matter too. Oregon Parks had to look like they co-operated with the locals, that they were a trusted partner.
Now Oregon Parks had a modern, no-nonsense official in charge of development, one Timothy Rathbone, who knew he quickly had to put to bed this haunting notion before it derailed his plans for a museum. Timothy went straight to the historical records to uncover the mundane facts of the hotel. In a dusty small library in the State Offices in Salem, Timothy unscrolled the land use charts dating back to the days when this land was ceded by the Indians..or should I say forcibly taken from the Indians...to the first pioneers in Oregon. Timothy compared the surveys done just prior to the hotel's construction and saw a big black 'X' over the spot the hotel would be built on. An 'X' that marked a sacred Indian spot. Digging deeper into the documents, Timothy Rathbone found a yellowed, torn document that authorized the forcible removal of the Indians and their relocation to a reservation in Warm Springs, some 80 miles West of Cascadia. He also learned that the Indian graveyard contained thousands of their ancestors, and that the hotel's construction workers were to be paid double their normal rate, as many were spooked be the digging up of the skeletal Indian remains."
"Timothy Rathbone took pause. A chill wind swept in the window and ran a shiver up his spine. Nervously he looked to the window. He had been so entranced by his readings that he did not notice night had fallen, and now he saw the big limbs of the elm tree swaying in the breeze. The dark branches made him think of fingers scratching away at the night sky. For the first time in a long time Timothy felt fear. But then he shrugged it off. After all, what is a graveyard anyway but a pile of bleached bones? They have no power, no memory, nothing but dead nonsense. Right then and there Timothy resolved that he would visit Cascadia and the hotel the next day and put to rest this ridiculous notion of a haunted hotel."
Michael and Isaac are frozen statues, not moving a muscle. It appears their cheeks wet.
"Are you two crying?" Alanna asks incredulously. Michael's fingers are pressed into his ears and he does not respond. Isaac mumbles "Oh be quiet."
"Timothy Rathbone had some paperwork to finish up, so the next day he left his office later than he intended, sometime after lunch. The drive took about three hours, so Timothy pulled into the park about 6 pm. He marched straight into the park and found a gathering of locals there. They had heard that a Park official would meet with them to discuss the future of the hotel.
"Hello Cascadia!" Timothy bellowed as he hopped out of his car. "It is so good to finally see your wonderful town!"
The locals eyed him suspiciously, and mumbled their hellos.
"This park you have is magnificent", Timothy continued. "And that hotel will make a fine information center."
The locals shifted uneasily. Finally one of them, a small woman in a smock, stepped forward. "Mister, in case you ain't heard, that hotel's haunted! There's all sorts of weird stuff that goes on in there after dark. We need to tear that thing down and bless and salt the earth."
"Nonsense!", Timothy bellowed. "Ain't no such thing as a haunted house. Nor spirits, nor ghosts. Why, I am here to prove it to you. What would you say if I told you I was going to spend the night in there?"
"Mister, the spirits have gotten more and more restless since the war ended. No one's stayed a night in there in over three years."
"Well, Hells Bells, I aim to show you that there's nothing wrong with that hotel. In fact, it is a fine magnificent building. We cannot just tear it down."
At that Timothy turned to take a good look at the hotel. It seemed to shrink back a bit from the crowd, as if it wanted to nestle itself back into the woods. The vegetation was overgrown too, bushes and trees stretching out as if to claim the building back into nature. A few of the trees also looked strange - looking closer he thought he could make out a few faces in the wood of the tree. A shiver ran up his spine.
But it was too late to turn back now. He looked back at the crowd and knew he had to go through with it. And without a further word, Timothy picked up his bag and strode across the lawn and through the front door of the hotel.
Creaking open the front door, Timothy felt a cold draft swoosh past him as he stepped into the hotel. The late afternoon sunlight barely penetrated the dusty windows. A weak shaft of sunlight shone in the foyer, spotlighting motes of dust that lazily swirled in the air. Timothy looked back out on the crowd that gathered on the front lawn and felt very sorry for himself. But he was not one to swallow his pride. With a show of false bravado, he waved cheerily and shut the door. Picking his way through the dimly lit living room, the floorboards creaking underneath his weight, he suddenly felt very alone and very afraid. The walls...there was something not right about the wallpaper, almost like there were faces in it. Indian looking faces. "What nonsense!", he barked out loud, then nervously laughed. "Hello!" he barked again, unsure whether an answer would be comforting or terrifying.
Timothy found his way to the bottom of the staircase. The rooms of course would be on the second floor. Slowly he lifted one leg after another. His legs felt heavy, like they were filled with wet sand. He could hardly move them forward. With tremendous will he ascended the staircase to the second floor hallway. Standing at the top of the stairs, he heard a sudden loud banging at the end of the hallway. Startled, he moved down the hall to investigate. It was a door to one of the rooms that was banging open and shut....he moved into the room and stood in the middle, willing his heart to stop jack-hammering. The bedroom window let in a bit of dim light, and he moved to it. Looking outside, he could see the crowd of people still on the front lawn. He rapped his knuckles on the window to get their attention. He smugly waved down to them. He had made it!
Suddenly the bedroom door slammed again. Timothy felt a cold presence in the room, something ancient, something that chilled his heart and his bones. He slowly turned his head to face his adversary; a stillborn scream caught in his throat as the chill icy fingers swept over him....
On the front lawn parents screamed in horror as they saw Timothy's face in the window. An expression of pure terror. Children who were there that day never forgot that look and were haunted by it for the rest of their days. The next day a search party was sent in, but no sign of Timothy was found anywhere. Within a week a construction crew arrived to tear the old hotel down. Today the site is cleared of all trace of the hotel, however some say if you look closely at the trees surrounding the property, if you look closely at them especially when the sun is setting, you can still see Timothy's face of horror peering out from them.
"Hey Dad..." says my son Isaac, "this story's not scary at all!"
"Yeah...what is it more like a history lesson?" wisecracks Isaac's friend Michael.
"Shut up you guys, let him tell the story!" my daughter Alanna yells.
"Yeah you babies, you were so worried it was going to be too scary, I think you'd be happy it's a history lesson" says Cassie, who is Alanna's friend (and Michael's older sister).
"Well just hang on, give me a chance...I'm going to get to the scary part."
"Not too scary Dad, okay?" Isaac nervously asks.
"You babies, shut up!" Alanna hollers.
"Okay you guys, let me get back to my story! Alright, let's see where was I? Oh yeah, the hotel on the campground...well like I said there used to be a hotel here that was popular, but after world war II and after Hitler and his Axis allies were defeated by the Allies and the A-bomb was dropped on Hiroshima..." the boys eyes swing over to me, rapt their attention grows at any mention of war..."the innkeeper and his two daughters, who were both orphans from the big city..." Alanna looks my way...."and there was also a handsome boy who worked in the field..."and here comes Cassie's attention..."all of them were living here at the time, and with the hotel not getting a lot of business, they were afraid that they would run out of money....and they had to sell the hotel. The buyer was the State of Oregon Parks Department, and the plan was to turn this area into a State Park and the hotel would be sort of a museum. But shortly after the hotel was purchased, the local citizens demanded that the State tear the hotel down, rather than turn it into a museum. You see, part of the reason the hotel did not attract a lot of business, was because many patrons complained of disturbing dreams at night, and strange sounds in the hallway, and flickering firelight when all the candles were put out. Some even whispered that the hotel was haunted."
Now both girls are sitting bolt upright in their camp chairs, staring into the fire. Both of the boys are slumped over in their chairs, fingertips pressed into their ears, staring into their laps.
"Well this would not do. Oregon Parks was a rational, modern govermental department and they didn't believe in nonsense like ghosts, and sure wouldn't let some local yahoos tell them what to do with their building. But it was a delicate matter too. Oregon Parks had to look like they co-operated with the locals, that they were a trusted partner.
Now Oregon Parks had a modern, no-nonsense official in charge of development, one Timothy Rathbone, who knew he quickly had to put to bed this haunting notion before it derailed his plans for a museum. Timothy went straight to the historical records to uncover the mundane facts of the hotel. In a dusty small library in the State Offices in Salem, Timothy unscrolled the land use charts dating back to the days when this land was ceded by the Indians..or should I say forcibly taken from the Indians...to the first pioneers in Oregon. Timothy compared the surveys done just prior to the hotel's construction and saw a big black 'X' over the spot the hotel would be built on. An 'X' that marked a sacred Indian spot. Digging deeper into the documents, Timothy Rathbone found a yellowed, torn document that authorized the forcible removal of the Indians and their relocation to a reservation in Warm Springs, some 80 miles West of Cascadia. He also learned that the Indian graveyard contained thousands of their ancestors, and that the hotel's construction workers were to be paid double their normal rate, as many were spooked be the digging up of the skeletal Indian remains."
"Timothy Rathbone took pause. A chill wind swept in the window and ran a shiver up his spine. Nervously he looked to the window. He had been so entranced by his readings that he did not notice night had fallen, and now he saw the big limbs of the elm tree swaying in the breeze. The dark branches made him think of fingers scratching away at the night sky. For the first time in a long time Timothy felt fear. But then he shrugged it off. After all, what is a graveyard anyway but a pile of bleached bones? They have no power, no memory, nothing but dead nonsense. Right then and there Timothy resolved that he would visit Cascadia and the hotel the next day and put to rest this ridiculous notion of a haunted hotel."
Michael and Isaac are frozen statues, not moving a muscle. It appears their cheeks wet.
"Are you two crying?" Alanna asks incredulously. Michael's fingers are pressed into his ears and he does not respond. Isaac mumbles "Oh be quiet."
"Timothy Rathbone had some paperwork to finish up, so the next day he left his office later than he intended, sometime after lunch. The drive took about three hours, so Timothy pulled into the park about 6 pm. He marched straight into the park and found a gathering of locals there. They had heard that a Park official would meet with them to discuss the future of the hotel.
"Hello Cascadia!" Timothy bellowed as he hopped out of his car. "It is so good to finally see your wonderful town!"
The locals eyed him suspiciously, and mumbled their hellos.
"This park you have is magnificent", Timothy continued. "And that hotel will make a fine information center."
The locals shifted uneasily. Finally one of them, a small woman in a smock, stepped forward. "Mister, in case you ain't heard, that hotel's haunted! There's all sorts of weird stuff that goes on in there after dark. We need to tear that thing down and bless and salt the earth."
"Nonsense!", Timothy bellowed. "Ain't no such thing as a haunted house. Nor spirits, nor ghosts. Why, I am here to prove it to you. What would you say if I told you I was going to spend the night in there?"
"Mister, the spirits have gotten more and more restless since the war ended. No one's stayed a night in there in over three years."
"Well, Hells Bells, I aim to show you that there's nothing wrong with that hotel. In fact, it is a fine magnificent building. We cannot just tear it down."
At that Timothy turned to take a good look at the hotel. It seemed to shrink back a bit from the crowd, as if it wanted to nestle itself back into the woods. The vegetation was overgrown too, bushes and trees stretching out as if to claim the building back into nature. A few of the trees also looked strange - looking closer he thought he could make out a few faces in the wood of the tree. A shiver ran up his spine.
But it was too late to turn back now. He looked back at the crowd and knew he had to go through with it. And without a further word, Timothy picked up his bag and strode across the lawn and through the front door of the hotel.
Creaking open the front door, Timothy felt a cold draft swoosh past him as he stepped into the hotel. The late afternoon sunlight barely penetrated the dusty windows. A weak shaft of sunlight shone in the foyer, spotlighting motes of dust that lazily swirled in the air. Timothy looked back out on the crowd that gathered on the front lawn and felt very sorry for himself. But he was not one to swallow his pride. With a show of false bravado, he waved cheerily and shut the door. Picking his way through the dimly lit living room, the floorboards creaking underneath his weight, he suddenly felt very alone and very afraid. The walls...there was something not right about the wallpaper, almost like there were faces in it. Indian looking faces. "What nonsense!", he barked out loud, then nervously laughed. "Hello!" he barked again, unsure whether an answer would be comforting or terrifying.
Timothy found his way to the bottom of the staircase. The rooms of course would be on the second floor. Slowly he lifted one leg after another. His legs felt heavy, like they were filled with wet sand. He could hardly move them forward. With tremendous will he ascended the staircase to the second floor hallway. Standing at the top of the stairs, he heard a sudden loud banging at the end of the hallway. Startled, he moved down the hall to investigate. It was a door to one of the rooms that was banging open and shut....he moved into the room and stood in the middle, willing his heart to stop jack-hammering. The bedroom window let in a bit of dim light, and he moved to it. Looking outside, he could see the crowd of people still on the front lawn. He rapped his knuckles on the window to get their attention. He smugly waved down to them. He had made it!
Suddenly the bedroom door slammed again. Timothy felt a cold presence in the room, something ancient, something that chilled his heart and his bones. He slowly turned his head to face his adversary; a stillborn scream caught in his throat as the chill icy fingers swept over him....
On the front lawn parents screamed in horror as they saw Timothy's face in the window. An expression of pure terror. Children who were there that day never forgot that look and were haunted by it for the rest of their days. The next day a search party was sent in, but no sign of Timothy was found anywhere. Within a week a construction crew arrived to tear the old hotel down. Today the site is cleared of all trace of the hotel, however some say if you look closely at the trees surrounding the property, if you look closely at them especially when the sun is setting, you can still see Timothy's face of horror peering out from them.
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